Sal Taybrim Posted January 17, 2019 Share Posted January 17, 2019 ((Hidden Temple of Molor)) ::K’Nubis sat over a dusty tome, running his fingers lightly through the flame of a candle - slowly enough that he could feel the fire bite at him. It flickered weakly in the ancient hall, but held bright illumination against the void of darkness encompassing the room. The words and lore were a constant reminder of his path, his purpose, his calling. He took in the words of Molor and savored them, for they were his truth and he was their voice. The true path of the Klingons had been lost with the traitor Kahless, and had plunged the Klingon Empire into weakness and complacency. He stood slowly, his expression almost vacant as he walked the length of the hall, his robes dragging through the dust of the ruin behind him. Exiting the sacred place, two acolytes took up position behind him as he walked. Not a whisper was spoken. Their armor was accented with a dark maroon cape and was adorned with the symbol of Molor, a ceremonial Mek’Leth strapped to their waists. He entered a similarly dark chapel and walked the central path between a gathering of his followers who dared not speak in his presence. The edges of the room were lined with candelabrum and a small stone alter stained with blood stood at its head. He took his place before it and silently regarded those before him as the two acolytes that had followed him took up positions at opposite sides of the room. K’Nubis: Children of Molor, I stand before you as the humble servant of our great father. ::His voice was calm and soft but almost hollow as though void of any emotion.:: I come to you this day with grave news, for one of our own dear brothers has failed in his duty to our cause. ::He looked out over the assembled. A rag tag group of Klingons and a number of other species - all brought together in search of something greater than themselves. His eyes stopped on a fellow Klingon - one who’s stoicism was betrayed by the sweat upon his brow and the trembling of his hand.:: K’Nubis: I call forward Trok son of Kurod. Present yourself to the judgement of Molor and state your transgression. ::The man stepped forward with a brave face and set his ceremonial Mek’Leth upon the small alter.:: Trok: I present myself to the mercy of Molor that he may allow atonement for my weakness. ::He held his head high, but the faint tremble in his voice betrayed his confidence.:: I sent an encrypted transmission to my sister in the hope of alleviating her concerns for my safety. ::A deafening silence stifled the air as he paused before continuing.:: This was foolish, and forbidden. I seek correction and alignment. K’Nubis: I hear this plea and grant reformation. ::His voice hollow and unwavering.:: May your purification through pain be an enlightenment to us all. ::The man took a knee and braced himself for what may come. Two acolytes approached from the back of the room carrying an urn and placed it on the altar before Trok.:: K’Nubis: We can all count ourselves blessed for this reminder. That those that follow Molor are the only true family worth value. Through our true brothers and sisters we find strength, and in all others we are compelled to actions of selfish compassion and weakness. This is not the true way. ::K’Nubis took the urn and knelt calmly before Trok, offering it out to him. Its contents a swarm of small creatures known far and wide for the ability to cause excruciating agony in all that came in contact with them. Roughly translated from their Lethean homeworld - Hornet Eels. Trok looked to the dark opening - his breathing becoming more rapid until he pulled in all the breath he had and held it, plunging his hand into the urn and all of the anguish that awaited him. There was the slightest moment when all was quiet, but any hope of an aversion to punishment was quickly dismissed when his teeth barred and his body tensed with a heavy groan as he grit his teeth. His pride kept his mouth shut as his warrior spirit compelled him to remain strong - but only for so long. He howled in agony and attempted to pull his hand back but K’Nubis was ready. He grabbed the tortured man's arm firmly and forced it down. His calm expression breaking only with a small curl of his lip - enough to hint at a quiet rage as he asserted his dominance and authority. Finally - Trok collapsed to the ground, his body no longer able to endure the punishment. K’Nubis extracted the damaged hand and set the url calmly back upon the altar and composed himself.:: K’Nubis: Let us all celebrate the blessing that has enlightened us through our brother. Today he has been made stronger, and his faith and duty bolstered. Never again will he commit such a misguided blunder, for he has been purified by pain. It will forever be a reminder of his mistake, and will help guide him on the true path. The path to a stronger Klingon Empire - One that is not weakened by the frailty of personal agendas and the follies of ambition. Unity is the only path to dominance, and self interest is the enemy of unity. ::His sermon was short - his lesson over. The display had sent the intended message. Dismissed, the assembled dispersed. Trok still lay passed out before the altar, sweat pouring down his face and his hand covered in painful welts and discolorations. K’nubis stepped over him as two acolytes once again took their place at his side as he departed the room. It was time to get back to business - there was much to be done, and there was no more room for mistakes.:: Quote Link to comment
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